


Riding My Decisions Homes

by deathwailart



Category: Original Work
Genre: Driving, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Married Couple, Parent Death, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-14
Updated: 2011-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-27 08:15:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart





	Riding My Decisions Homes

Massimo has been driving for eight hours when he veers off the road sharply enough to make Allegra jump and crack her head against the car window, swearing. The car jolts over gravel before he stomps down on the brakes, gripping the steering while so tight his knuckles turn white and his arms tremble.

“Massimo?” Allegra asks but he ignores her and kills the ignition, fumbles violently with his seatbelt and almost throws himself out of his seat. He staggers forward a few steps and drops to his knees, vomitting so hard he nearly falls forward into the dirt. He can feel himself shaking as he coughs and retches, oesophagus burning from the strain and the acid scorches his tongue and nose, giving rise to tears. The other car door slams and Allegra click-crunches her way over to him, a step or two behind him with a hand steadying his shoulder. After a moment or two when he decides that he can breathe without gasping in pain he collapses back, close enough to the car to lean against the door he can’t remember closing. A bottle is passed to him and he unscrews the cap, rinses, spits and coughs raggedly. It does little to rid him of the metallic bile taste lingering in his mouth. He’s grateful for the vanilla musk of Allegra’s perfume masking the stench of the mess not two feet away.

“Sorry,” he doesn’t quite know why he’s apologising; maybe it’s for the tiny little furrow between Allegra’s eyebrows and the scrunch of her nose, mouth in a moue of distaste. Allegra strokes his hair, hunkered down akwardly in heels and her dress and if her tights weren’t already ruined then they would be by now, ladders running up them exposing smooth, pale skin like tiger strips in reverse.  
  
“It’s not your fault,” she kisses his temple and tucks his hair behind his ear. He’ll need to cut if before long. “Why didn’t you let me drive?” There’s nothing accusatory in her tone and he’s thankful for marrying a woman who knows the life.  
  
“I needed it,” he coughs and takes another drink of the water that’s rapidly warming in the heat. His mouth isn’t nearly as disgusting now but all the same he digs through his pockets for a cigarette and lighter. “I didn’t know how far we’d gotten.” He has no idea where they are beyond the fact that it looks like Tuscany. “Sorry,” he says again after taking a long drag.  
  
Allegra smacks the back of his head hard. “Stop apologising,” she shakes her head, sunlight catching the expensive copper highlights, necklaces jangling, “you did what had to be done.”  
  
“I’ve known him all my life Allegra. He taught me to play poker.”  
  
“He tried to murder your father so that Bruno could be the next boss.”  
  
“Did you see that coming?” Twisting awkwardly – his back screams in protest – he grabs her arms, almost pitching forwards and knocking them both over but he has to know. Her eyes are difficult to read, dark shadows of exhaustion standing out like bruises. She doesn’t meet his gaze at first and when she does she wipes at her eyes furiously, smearing the last stubborn traces of mascara across her cheeks. Family is important to both of them, important to their whole damn way of life and Allegra has always loved his father almost as much as her own. She sniffs and squeezes his hands.

It takes her a long time to find the words and Massimo waits, watching her twist her wedding ring around her finger, pull her hair back from her face only to let it fall forwards again and chew her bottom lip. She sighs quietly and looks up at him again, eyes shiny with tears. “I thought Bruno would challenge you,” she says carefully and he nods. He expected as much too as they were so close in age and raised in near constant competition with one another. She continues, “but not like this. Never like this.” He wonders if she realises just how horrified she sounds. “To try and murder your own father…” She doesn’t finish the sentence and links their hands, squeezes and lets go to draw her knees close to her chest.  
  
“He didn’t even have the guts to do it himself,” he spits, on his feet and crushing his cigarette beneath his heel. “He asked Gustavo – _Gustavo_ – to do it! A capo! A capo handpicked by my father. _Our_ father. Mother of God what is _wrong_ with him!”  
  
“Massimo.” He ignores Allegra, cutting her off.  
  
“Does he have any idea what he’s done? A united family is a strong family, a divided one weak! Every family with a grudge will think they can press an advantage; the boss in hospital, the sons fighting and the loyalties of crews and soldiers split.”  
  
“Massimo.” Sharper this time, louder too. A bird darts from the hedge and the sound is so close to a gunshot that it turns his stomach.  
  
“All the contacts, allies, informants – gone. It’ll spill into the streets. The police!” He kicks a rock in a temper, drawing in breath to continue.  
  
“Massimo!” Allegra grabs his arm, pulling him around to face her and her expression is a mix of anger and sorrow, splotches of red dotting her cheeks and neck. “This isn’t helping anyone!”

He’d half-forgotten that she had been there too, alongside Vittorio when he fired the shots as Gustavo knelt before them, begging and pleading, weeping openly. Massimo had been the one to pull the trigger, gun pressed tight to Gustavo’s forehead as he recited his Hail Mary, faltering, starting and stopping until Massimo had squeezed and the bullet had shot out to splatter Gustavo’s brains and skull across the floor. He’d closed his eyes when he’d heard the bang and the squelch and crack of bone and tissue and brain matter. He’d seen too much and he’d left without a backward glance. Allegra had been the one to tell Vittorio to handle clean up, had been the one to bring the car around and hand over the keys. He should really phone home but her doesn’t want to receive more bad news. Maybe Allegra phoned already; all he remembers is the city melting away into countryside, gunmetal grey to graveyard green, the sky shifting from indigo to brilliant purples, pinks and oranges before shifting back to blue only far lighter. It’s too bright, he thinks, aloud it turns out because Allegra frowns in confusion.

“It should be grey,” he explains, “stormy and oppressive. Not this,” he shakes a loose fist at the sun and smattering of brilliantly white clouds.  
  
“We should get some rest, real rest,” Allegra sighs when they both fall silent, dashing Massimo’s hopes of recharging their batteries here in the layby before pressing onward. “I saw a sign for a guest house we passed a few miles back.”  
  
“Alright,” Massimo agrees reluctantly, not wishing to turn back, filled with the urge to drive until he reaches the sea. “We’ll need to go back eventually.” The thought of facing home is not one he’s willing to entertain right now, an anvil around his neck.  
  
“I’ll drive.” He tosses the keys to Allegra; his short burst of anger has drained the last of the fight from him for the moment. Allegra misses them, co-ordination shot to hell from stress, too little sleep and whatever adrenaline she has left over. Still, it’s safer than him getting behind the wheel again because he can’t guarantee that he wouldn’t plow into a tree or an oncoming vehicle in the mood he’s in. It takes all his concentration to get his seatbelt fastened and then Allegra is reversing and pulling a quick U-turn, lurching the car back onto the road.

\---

Allegra showers first because his manners won’t allow him to do things any other way and she has more need of the hot water than him. He has no idea how long she spends in the bathroom but there’s a cloud of steam behind her when she opens the door and although the rest of her is pale and almost sickly looking, her cheeks, shoulders, chest and neck are all scarlet. He brushes past her without a word and brushes his teeth as she shuts the door on him. He brushes hard enough that his gums bleed and when he gulps down cold water to rinse pain shoots through his mouth. Today is not his day. The shower comes on scalding hot at first and he forces himself to stand under it, scalp throbbing when he starts to scrub roughly, hotel shampoo dumped unceremoniously on his head. It doesn’t take long for the water to turn cold but he finishes off, shivering and teeth chattering and he’s pink all over, sore in places where his nails caught as he scrubbed. He towels himself dry roughly, chafing the life and warmth back into his limbs and shuts off the water.

He’s almost at the door when he hears Allegra talking, presumably on the phone.

“I understand…of course I’ll let him know,” she sounds strained and defeated and he carefully opens the door a crack, able to see the line of her back as she sits on the bed wearing a different dress, her hair loose and still damp around her slumped shoulders. “Take care of yourself.” She hangs up and holds the phone open in her hand for a long moment before snapping it shut and dropping it to the bed.  
  
“Who was it?” Allegra jumps and he feels a genuine smile creep onto his face, the first since he’s father’s shooting. He rummages through one of the bags to find boxers, jeans and socks and a t-shirt that was once bright red but is now faded beyond belief.  
  
“Your mother,” Allegra answers, patting the bed. “You might want to sit down.”  
  
Again he feels sick, certain he’s going to pass on news that his father has died even though he’s due to be released any day now. He drops down, his legs numb and useless   
and his stomach churning, heart crawling slowly up his throat to choke him. “What happened?”  
  
“It’s Mariella,” Allegra’s voice is hardly above a whisper and all he can think is surely not. Mariella isn’t in line to become a boss; she wants to leave the mafia life behind as soon as she’s able. Surely Bruno wouldn’t hurt her. Allegra looks up at him and her eyes are wide, her bottom lip wobbling. “She…she shot Bruno outside the cathedral this morning.”


End file.
